You Bet Your Life
by Bill K
Summary: The Joker plays quizmaster and win or lose, Batgirl's grand prize is death.


"You Bet Your Life"  
A "Batman: The Animated Series" fanfic featuring Batgirl  
By Bill K.  
  
Batgirl, The Joker and Harley Quinn (c) 2000 by DC Comics Inc. Story (c) 2000   
by Bill Kropfhauser.  
  
The problem with having a rogue's gallery was that they sometimes reared   
their ugly heads two or three at a time. That was the problem now. The Batman   
was out of Gotham, opposing the latest global plot of Ra's Al Ghul. Robin was   
with him and Batgirl was all Gotham had to augment the overworked Gotham police   
force. Most times it would be enough.  
  
It was evening, a dull, drab, gray evening that seemed colder than it   
should. Most Gotham evenings did, except the ones that were sweltering. Gotham   
always seemed a city of extremes. It was too hot or it was too cold, too damp   
or too dry, too colorful or too drab. The days were always too bright and the   
nights were always way too dark. And the crimes...  
  
Nobody who was foolish enough or unlucky enough to go out in Gotham at   
night concerned himself or herself with the sound of the rotor blades overhead.   
As such, the twin rotor cargo helicopter passed through the skies   
unchallenged. It arrived at the looming structure that housed Wayne Enterprises   
and hovered overhead. When signaled, the copter released a large canvas bag it   
was carrying. The bag, roughly twenty feet long and filled with something so   
that it was roughly twenty feet around, fell to the roof of the skyscraper and   
exploded upon impact. Hundreds of gallons of slimy green gelatinous goo poured   
over the roof and oozed down the side of the building.  
  
The citizens below saw what was unfolding and ran, not because of the goo   
so much as because of the laughter echoing from atop one of the neighboring   
buildings. If you lived in Gotham for any time, you learned that when you heard   
that maniacal cackle, you ran.  
  
Batgirl swung to the top of that building expecting anything except The   
Joker sitting on the roof ledge admiring the slime oozing down the Wayne   
building. She landed a few feet from him and remained wary.  
  
"It's beautiful," sighed The Joker, "and yet it lacks that certain   
something, don't you think?" He spun around and looked Batgirl straight in the   
eye. "I wanted to use banana crème, but there wasn't enough available.   
Honestly, that's what's wrong with the world. You just can't walk into your   
favorite novelty store and order a couple of tons of banana crème on short   
notice. Heh heh."  
  
Not wanting to get sucked into one of The Joker's mad schemes, Batgirl   
pulled a batarang with a rope attached to it and flung it so it would lasso the   
clown. However, The Joker proved more nimble than he appeared and flung himself   
into a roll on the roof, evading the batarang and rolling to his feet.  
  
"Ta da!" he said with a theatrical flourish. "Now that the preliminaries   
are done, when does the big blue Bat show up? I'm tired of dealing with the   
small fry."  
  
"Small fry?" fumed Batgirl.   
  
She flung herself at him, her right foot pointed at him like a missile.   
The Joker wasn't agile enough to evade the oncoming caped beauty and her foot   
caught him across the chin with a satisfying (for her) impact. The Joker spun   
in a whirl of purple and tumbled awkwardly to the roof.  
  
"Batman's busy," Batgirl said, standing over The Joker in triumph. "He   
sent me to deal with someone like you," and then she added with a smirk, "small   
fry."  
  
"My, do you have a mouth on you," scowled The Joker.  
  
He reached for his lapel flower and a stream of acid squirted out. The   
acid trick was an old move and Batgirl evaded it with a simple tumble to the   
side. However, Joker kept squirting at her, determined to hit her. She dodged   
again and again, tumbling back to the brick covering around the entranceway to   
the roof.  
  
"Give it up, Joker!" she shouted, yelling back as she vaulted away from   
another deadly stream. "That flower bit is old hat!"  
  
"So's this, Bat-babe, but nostalgia's all the rage this year! Ah ha ha   
ha ha ha!" and she realized he was herding her toward the access cover.  
  
Suddenly a form lunged at her from the shadows. It was small and wiry,   
feminine - - Harley Quinn, no doubt. Batgirl caught sight of the prop pistol  
with the boxing glove on the barrel and ducked just as the glove shot out at   
her. Harley was ready for her, though, and caught her with party streamers   
from her other hand that wrapped around Batgirl's throat.  
  
"I got her, Mr. J!" she heard Harley squeal.  
  
The goo on the building had been a ruse to lure Batman there, only she had   
fallen into it instead. Her immediate concern was to keep from being   
strangled. Batgirl locked both hands on the streamers around her windpipe and   
pulled down, swinging her hips and bending her back. Harley was jerked forward   
and pulled directly into Batgirl's kick. Harley went flying head over heels   
and landed hard on the roof. But the effects of the choking streamers weren't   
that easily shaken off and Batgirl staggered back against the brick wall, trying   
to steady her swirling vision and foggy mind.  
  
"Tsk," scowled The Joker. He pulled a pistol from under his purple jacket   
and pointed it at Batgirl. "Honestly, if you want something done right . . ."   
and he pulled the trigger.  
  
Out popped a stick with a banner attached that said "bang". The Joker   
waited for the laugh. When he got none, he sighed and pressed the concealed   
stud on the handle. The stick launched itself across the void and imbedded in   
the wall five inches from Batgirl's head. The tip of the missile broke on   
impact and a rapidly expanding green gas hissed out.  
  
"What?" gasped the still groggy Batgirl. "Heh heh," she giggled   
uncontrollably. "Joker g-gas. No, heh heh. Can't . . .ha ha ha . . .hee hee   
hee . . .can't . . ."  
  
Batgirl sank to her knees, now laughing helplessly. She fumbled with her   
belt, trying to find her filter mask and rebreather. The spasms of laughter   
were coming more quickly now and she couldn't concentrate on anything. Her   
diaphragm was sore and aching and she wasn't drawing enough air through the   
spastic laughter to stay conscious.  
  
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha . . .w-what . . .hee hee ha ha ha ha!" was all she   
could get out before she collapsed, her ruby lips pulled into a grim smile.  
  
"Hey, Mr. J," Harley said, standing over Batgirl's limp form and looking   
closely at her. "She ain't dead."  
  
"Harley, please," The Joker replied with mock despair. "I may be insane,   
but I'm not crazy. Something like this is worth just a chuckle. I'm looking   
for the big laugh."  
  
"But the Bat-guy ain't coming."  
  
"So how was I to know he was out of town? He never sends an RSVP.   
Besides, we can still use her, if for no other reason than to lure Batsy to us.   
When we broadcast, I'll drop enough hints and he'll come running to save his   
little dolly. And then I'll have them both out of the way!"  
  
"But what if he saves her?" Harley asked.  
  
"Do you think I haven't though of that?" growled The Joker. Harley gulped,   
but stared uncomprehendingly. "Come, come, Harley. Haven't you ever heard of   
videotape? That's the biggest joke of the whole insane plot. Batman won't even   
get the chance!"  
  
"I get it! Gee, Mr. J, you're such a conniving, underhanded little skunk!"  
  
"Harley," he leered. "You know what that kind of talk does for me. Rowf!"   
  
Harley squealed in delight. The Joker scooped the limp Batgirl up into   
his arms and carried her to the roof access door, cackling madly.  
  
When Batgirl regained consciousness, she knew immediately that she was in   
trouble. A leather strap had been pulled over her eyes, blindfolding her. A   
second strap, just above her blindfold, held her head immobile to the back of a   
straight back wooden chair. It felt like a very sturdy chair, made of thick   
wood that wouldn't break unless you rammed it with a car. She shook herself,   
testing the chair. It was anchored to the floor.  
  
A leather strap ran across her chest and upper arms, anchoring her to the   
chair back. The back of the chair was a series of wooden slats with gaps   
between them that allowed straps to be passed through almost by design. Another   
strap ran across her ribcage just below her breasts. It was hard to take a deep   
breath; it was impossible to move from the chair. But if that wasn't enough,   
there was another strap, a "v" shaped strap that ran horizontally over her hips   
and diagonally from either hip between her legs and through a slot in the seat.   
No doubt it was buckled behind the chair back. She could undo it if she could   
reach it.  
  
However, her arms were strapped at the wrist and above the elbow to the   
armrests of the chair. With her elbows pushed against the chair back, she   
couldn't even try to slip her hands under the wrist straps. She tried to move   
her legs, but they were similarly restrained. Her legs were held wide apart by   
the crotch strap, then her knees were bent and her ankles drawn to the center of   
the chair by ankle cuffs that were strapped together behind an ornamental   
vertical rung that ran from the seat to the floor.   
  
Her cape was gone. It felt like her belt was gone too, not that it   
mattered. She couldn't reach it to get anything anyway. She was stuck, caught   
and virtually helpless. There were sounds in the background, a low murmur like   
a gathered audience. Batgirl didn't like the odds and started rubbing the   
forefingers of her gloves against the edge of the armrest. Something about the   
design of this chair bothered her, but she couldn't put her finger on it yet.  
  
"Wakey wakey," taunted The Joker. "It's a beautiful day and you want to   
sleep it all away."  
  
"What is all this, Joker!" fumed Batgirl.  
  
"What do you think it is? You're tied to a chair. Sheesh, talk about   
thick!"  
  
"Don't play with me, Joker!" Batgirl snapped, throwing up a wall of false   
bravado.  
  
"Heh heh heh heh heh," twittered the mad clown, "I wouldn't dream of it.   
Now we're only two minutes to taping, so try to project. Make up!"  
  
Someone came running over. It sounded like Harley Quinn. Batgirl felt   
her face suddenly slapped with what felt like a gigantic powder puff. She spat   
pancake make-up out of her mouth and coughed several times, the spasm of her   
ribcage pressing painfully against the strap over it. Between The Joker's   
antics and the strange familiarity she could sense concerning the design of the   
chair she was strapped to, Batgirl realized that she needed to escape   
immediately. She continued to rub her forefingers against the armrests until   
the razor edges were fully extended from the glove fingers. Once that was done,   
she curled her fingers into a fist, the forefingers extending straight back.   
She began to saw on the leather straps. It would be a slow, uncomfortable   
affair, but it was her only chance at the moment.  
  
"And now, live from Gotham City, the murder capital of these United   
States," Harley loudly proclaimed, assuming the modulated tones of a   
professional announcer, "it's You Bet Your Death!"  
  
It sounded like a game show introduction. Taped applause echoed through   
the room. How typical of The Joker. His warped sense of humor just had to turn   
the execution he planned for her into a theatrical game show. Anything to draw   
attention to himself and massage his colossal ego. Batgirl sawed harder,   
because of this and because she suddenly recognized the design of the chair she   
was in.  
  
"And here's your host, The Clown Prince of Villainy, that Jester of   
Jesters, the King of Comedy in Gotham," and she paused for effect, "The Joker!"  
  
More taped applause rose through the room. She could picture The Joker   
striding to some sort of ridiculous podium, waving to an imagined audience and   
whoever would be watching the broadcast, taking in the adulation that was only   
in his own sick mind.  
  
"Thank you, ladies and germs," leered The Joker, "and welcome to You Bet   
Your Death! We had to change the title of the show because Groucho got upset.   
Heh heh heh!" He paused to allow the "audience" to laugh at his weak line.   
"Now let's meet our contestant. She's a happy homemaker from right here in   
Gotham, married with ten screeching little children. Let's welcome Batgirl!"  
  
The taped applause swelled again. Batgirl let the jab pass without   
comment. There was no point in getting into an argument with The Joker.   
Cutting the straps that held her to this deadly chair was a priority.  
  
"So tell us, honey," The Joker jabbed again, "do you have any hobbies?   
Hanging upside down, perhaps? Heh heh heh."  
  
"Yes, I have a hobby," Batgirl responded, unable to resist. "Pounding   
psychotic clowns into the dirt!"  
  
"Hmm, sounds kinky," The Joker smirked. "Well, enough chit-chat. On with   
the game! You know our rules, don't you?"  
  
"Refresh my memory."  
  
"Of course. You'll be asked ten questions. Every question you answer   
right gains you a prize. Every question you get wrong, and you pay a penalty.   
The last question will be for our grand prize picked especially for you.   
Ready?"  
  
"Would it help if I said no?"  
  
"Isn't she a card, folks? Well, on with our game. Question one: Who is   
Batman under his mask?"  
  
Batgirl heard a ticking clock sound effect and wondered how much time she   
had. There was no way she could answer correctly and no way The Joker could   
know if she did, but that wasn't the point. The question was designed to make   
her pay the penalty. Batgirl also knew what the penalty would be.   
  
"I have no idea," Batgirl replied, then braced for what she knew was   
coming.  
  
"No, I'm sorry, but that's wrong," The Joker chortled. "You have to pay a   
penalty."  
  
The electricity shot through Batgirl, painfully contracting every muscle   
in her body. Her teeth ground together and her arms, legs and chest pulled   
against the leather straps holding her down. Every nerve in her body was on   
fire and she couldn't move to protect herself. The jolt only lasted a few   
seconds, but afterward she was left gasping for breath, her lungs unable to   
force the old air out without massive effort.  
  
"Forget the pain," Batgirl thought as a million different nerve endings   
tingled in unison. "Concentrate on cutting your wrist straps."  
  
"Oh, I seem to have forgotten one of our sponsors," The Joker said in mock   
distress. "Johnny, tell us about our contestant's chair."  
  
"Until recently," replied Harley's announcer voice, "our contestant's   
chair belonged to the State Penitentiary at Stonegate. Nicknamed 'Old Sparky',   
the chair has been modified to deliver incremental charges of electricity   
ranging from bothersome to lethal. 'Old Sparky', executing condemned prisoners   
since 1891. Back to you, Mr. J!"  
  
"Old Sparky?" asked The Joker. "Wasn't that the name of an old movie with   
a dog? Heh heh, well no matter, back to our game. Question number two: Who's   
buried in Grant's Tomb?"  
  
The question threw Batgirl off balance. It was the easiest question in   
the world, so easy Groucho Marx had made it a running gag on his game show.   
That meant there had to be a trick meaning to it. As she sawed surreptitiously,   
Batgirl wracked her brain trying to figure out the angle of The Joker's question.  
  
"Five seconds," prompted The Joker.  
  
"Um, Ulysses Grant?" Batgirl said finally, unable to determine what the   
trick was.  
  
"Is correct!" cackled The Joker. "Harley, tell her what she's won!"  
  
Instantly Batgirl was gripped with another jolt of electricity. Her   
entire body was held rigid by the energy flowing through her. She couldn't draw   
a breath because she couldn't make her diaphragm work. A strained grunt of pain   
was wrenched from between her clenched teeth before the electricity was shut off   
and her body was released. The costumed redhead slumped against the straps   
holding her to the chair, her bound limbs quivering.  
  
"Mr. J, she's won two hundred volts of electricity, courtesy of Gotham   
Edison Power and Light," said the announcer. "Gotham Edison, the utility   
company that cares about the environment. Back to you, Puddin'!"  
  
"Harley, don't call me 'puddin' at the office," Joker murmured out loud.   
"Enjoying the game so far?" The Joker asked Batgirl.  
  
"It's," Batgirl gasped, trying to divorced herself from the pain, "all I'd   
expect from you."  
  
"Diplomatically put," Joker smirked. "Now for question three. Batgirl,   
describe Ohm's Law."  
  
"Very funny," thought Batgirl. But, hoping to distract him from her work   
on her wrist straps, Batgirl answered. "Ohm's law states that the amount of   
current flowing in a circuit made up of pure resistances is directly   
proportional to the electromotive force impressed on the circuit and inversely   
proportional to the total resistance of the circuit. It's usually expressed as   
I=E/R, with I being the current in amperes, E the electromotive force in volts   
and R the resistance in ohms."  
  
"Uhhhh," goggled The Joker. "Judges?"  
  
Batgirl heard a bell ringing. Just how many people were involved with   
this charade anyway?  
  
"The judges say yes!" proclaimed The Joker. "Give her the prize, Harley!"  
  
Batgirl's body cringed in anticipation of the jolting electric shot she   
knew was coming. It didn't matter. The electricity gripped her body like a   
gigantic hand squeezing her to death. Her muscles were so paralyzed that she   
couldn't even cry out. All that came was a prolonged moan through teeth clamped   
shut. When the current was removed, Batgirl's muscles felt like jelly. Her   
breath came in short gasps. For a moment she wondered if she would survive   
until the tenth question, then immediately knew the answer. Of course she would.   
The Joker would have calculated it out in minute detail just to make sure she   
survived until the punch line.  
  
"Are we having fun yet? Ah, ha ha ha ha ha ha!" cackled The Joker,   
reveling in his captive's pain. "Question four: is Robin as big of a stiff as   
he looks?"  
  
This was pointless. She had no way of winning in this situation, so   
Batgirl ignored the question and continued to surreptitiously saw on her wrist   
straps. The operation was going way too slow and, though it didn't stop her,   
Batgirl wondered privately if she would have enough time to saw through.  
  
"Five seconds," prompted The Joker. The clock sound effect ticked away.   
With no way of knowing whether she was being observed, Batgirl continued to   
attack the straps, working as fast as she could until the next jolt. "Oh, out   
of time!" moaned The Joker. "The correct answer was 'of course he is - - he was   
trained by Bat-breath after all'. You know what's coming next!"  
  
Batgirl worked until the electricity seized her body. Every nerve ending   
was on fire and she could do nothing to stop it. Although it was only a few   
seconds, to her it seemed like a growing eternity in a series of eternities.   
When it stopped, she fell once more against her bonds. It seemed inconceivable   
that the human body could endure so much pain without some sort of damage.   
  
Resting as long as she dared, Batgirl marshaled herself to work on the   
straps again. The next five questions The Joker asked were much like the first   
four. He would either lob her a softball or ask something intimate about either   
herself or the Dynamic Duo. The end result was a jolt of electricity whether   
she got the question right, wrong or refused to answer. Finally the last   
question arrived. Batgirl, still blinded by the strap over her eyes, knew she   
was close to cutting free, but couldn't see just how close. She worked   
furiously, gambling that The Joker was too wrapped up in playing to the camera   
to notice what she was doing and Harley was too busy admiring him.  
  
"You've done well, Batgirl," said The Joker, "but all of that pales in   
comparison to our big prize question! Are you ready?"  
  
"Get bent, Joker," snapped Batgirl, fatigue making her nerves brittle and   
frayed.  
  
"Isn't she a good sport everyone? Give her a hand!" Taped applause came   
up, then faded down. "Now before we get to the big prize question, let's find   
out what she's competing for. Harley?"  
  
Batgirl felt the bands around both wrists part almost simultaneously.   
Quickly she seized the straps and dumped them in her lap. She tensed for a   
moment, fearing discovery, then eased as nothing happened.   
  
"Mr. J, our contestant will receive twenty thousand volts of electricity   
courtesy of Gotham Edison for a period of three minutes or until she's dead,"   
Harley proclaimed proudly. "She'll also receive a six foot pine box coffin,   
courtesy of The Chesterfield Mortuary! Chesterfield, our sympathies are with   
you! She'll also receive a case of Turtle Wax - - Turtle Wax, the hard shell   
finish! She'll also receive a case of Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat!   
Finally, she'll receive a gift certificate from the Spiegel Catalog, Spiegel,   
Chicago 60609!"  
  
She still wasn't out of the woods. Though her wrists were free, her   
elbows were still bound to the chair back just above the elbow and kept her from   
reaching up and removing the blindfold and, more importantly, the metal crown   
under the second head strap that completed the electrocution circuit. With   
cautious speed, she moved her right arm from the armrest, straightened it and   
began slipping it out of the cuff. It was a good thing she kept herself limber.   
Now if only The Joker didn't notice.  
  
"Back to you, Mr. J!"  
  
Time was running out. The moment he saw she was escaping, he would throw   
the switch and electrocute her, whether the question had been asked or not.   
Suddenly her arm caught in the cuff just below the elbow. A moment of panic   
flooded over Batgirl, but washed away when she was able to jerk free, albeit   
more violently than she'd have liked.  
  
"Thank you, Harley," The Joker continued. "And now for question . . .  
she's loose! Get her!"  
  
Lent fantastic speed by the life-threatening situation, Batgirl's hand   
shot up, hooked under the straps over her head in a single motion and shoved   
them from her. Her motion took the metal crown that rested on the top of her  
head as well. Granted sight again, Batgirl sized up the situation. Harley was   
running toward her, brandishing her trademark gigantic mallet. Though she was   
still trapped in the chair and The Joker was throwing the switch, the circuit   
was broken and the worst she could get was burns from the electrodes still   
strapped to her ankles. And she had two weapons in her lap: the severed straps,   
or more importantly, the metal buckles on those straps.  
  
As Harley got close enough and reared back with the mallet, Batgirl's   
right hand swung the severed strap and brought the buckle hard against her   
nose. This stunned her momentarily and allowed Batgirl to swing the other   
buckle against her nose. Stung, blood gushing, Harley dropped the mallet and   
staggered back, holding her nose. Batgirl tugged at the belt across her ribs,  
but it refused to come free.   
  
Harley screamed with rage and lunged at her. Batgirl swung the buckles   
again, but Harley was ready for her to swing high and blocked it. Batgirl   
quickly changed her tactic and snapped the buckle below the belt. This doubled   
Harley over, her eyes popping and a painful squeal emerging from her bulging  
cheeks. It also set her up for the next swing, which slammed the buckle down   
behind her right ear.   
  
All the while The Joker continued to press down on the switch, fuming to   
himself that Batgirl should be toast by now. Batgirl could feel the electricity   
biting her ankles, but ignored it. She reached behind the chair back and   
unbuckled the crotch strap, then the strap across her ribs. She couldn't reach   
the strap across her chest, so she slithered out from under it.  
  
"Just where do you think you're going?" snarled The Joker, advancing on   
her with his prop gun that was no doubt modified to shoot poison, spears or   
something else equally deadly. "You've still got our bonus round to play, and   
oh do I have a doozy of a question for you! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"  
  
With her full range of upper body motion restored to her, Batgirl flung   
one of the straps at The Joker. The buckle struck the fleshy part below the   
thumb of The Joker's gun hand hard and he reflexively dropped his weapon. Just   
seconds behind was the other strap on a collision course with The Joker's face.   
The buckle struck directly on the bridge of The Joker's nose and he doubled over,   
blood squirting through his fingers. Even as this happened, Batgirl ripped the   
wires from her ankle cuffs so she could safely unbuckle them.  
  
"You little...!" raged The Joker, his hand diving into his jacket for some   
other sort of deviltry  
  
It was all he could get out, though, as Batgirl launched herself foot   
first at the clown prince of crime and drove her spike-heeled foot into his face.   
The Joker spun around, then crumpled, unconscious before he hit the floor.   
Batgirl stood over him, her chest heaving deeply, her massive fatigue quickly   
overtaking her.  
  
"Game over, Joker," she snarled through clenched teeth.  
  
The police flooded over the pseudo-studio, looking for anything they could   
use in their ongoing war against The Joker. As plain-clothes detectives scoured   
the place, uniformed officers cuffed The Joker and Harley Quinn and led them   
off. Batgirl watched it all. Usually she wouldn't hang around for the clean   
up, but this time she did. It gave her some satisfaction to watch The Joker   
hustled off in cuffs after what he'd put her through.  
  
"What, no good night kiss?" asked The Joker as he passed.   
  
"HEY!" growled Harley.   
  
Batgirl shook her head in cynical triumph.  
  
"That's OK, Bat-babe," he grinned insanely. "Wait'll you see what I've   
got planned for our next date!"  
  
The laughter echoed within the police van and continued as it drove off.  
  
END  
  
  
  



End file.
